


The Trip

by MannixMind



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Awkward Sexual Situations, F/M, Road Trips, Rugby, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-04-02 19:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4071991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MannixMind/pseuds/MannixMind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Modern AU.  Jon and Gendry are college buddies, who’ve just graduated and are moving to Washington state.  Arya is starting college at UC Boulder, so they’re borrowing an RV from Jon’s uncle Benjen and doing a grand roadtrip out together, making mandatory pit stops to see Sansa’s summer show and catch Robb’s bachelor party in New Orleans.  But before they can go Catelyn Stark has some things to say to her daughter that none of them wanted to hear…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Talk

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This is my first ever attempt at an AU, just something I came up with while I was riding into work the other day that's been stuck in my mind ever since. I'd love to hear people's feedback on it! Also - more characters/ relationships to come.

Gendry

 

He never thought of himself as a fidgety person, but as he listened to the Stark women’s argument echoing through the house he couldn’t help but tap his foot with nervous energy. He was in the den at the Stark mansion, xbox controller in one hand and a cold beer sitting on a coaster two feet away as he battled Jon, Robb, and Robb’s friend Theon in Call of Duty. Ned Stark sat grading papers in his favorite leather arm chair, occasionally glancing up at the game being played by the four boys and raising his eyebrows at them sarcastically. By silent agreement all five men in the room were pointedly ignoring the row occurring just above their heads, but the tension in the air suggested that they all knew that that was only temporary.

In the four years he’d known Jon he’d gotten to know his family pretty well. He and Jon had been assigned to room with each other freshman year at UConn. He’d almost asked for a transfer when the school gave him his contact info – the address was more than enough to tip Gendry off about his roommate’s wealthy background – but seeing the ‘Snow’ surname had stopped him. What kind of a bastard lived in Dover Massachusetts? It was one of the richest suburbs of Boston, full of sprawling estates, half of which dated back to the Revolutionary War.

So he’d waited it out, and thank the Gods he had. Two weeks into the first semester they were affectionately referring to themselves as the Bastards of Boston, laughing at the kids from Jersey who couldn’t deal with the New England winters. Gendry had never been the most talkative person in the world, and in Jon he’d found someone who could actually _get_ that without assuming he was being a dick.

He got Jon too, though they had different issues to work through, and so when Snow asked him to come back with him to Winterfell Manor (yeah… Jon’s family home was historic enough to have a name… like Mount fucking Vernon) Gendry had known it was more because he needed the moral support if he were going to make it through the holidays with his dreaded step-mother than because Jon wanted to show Gendry where he lived.

So he’d agreed, and it had been even more ridiculous than he thought. Not that Winterfell was pretentious – far from it – it was just _impressive_. The house, which was really the ancestral manner home of the Starks (where American Independence had effectively been planned over illegally imported Caribbean spirits) somehow managed to be grand and puritanically no-nonsense all at once. The same could be said of Jon’s father – who had greeted Gendry as if he was as welcome a guest as the governors and former presidents who frequented the premises. His positive reception from New Stark had soothed Gendry’s nerves, and he’d gotten through meeting the rest of the family without much difficulty – though it was clear from the moment he was introduced to Catelyn and Sansa Stark that he’d never be their choice companion.

That was almost four years ago now, and somehow he’d managed to actually feel decently comfortable in the Stark household when he came to visit. He’d seen the various Stark children a number of times since then, mostly Robb (who’d rebelled against his father’s Harvard legacy by going to Yale and was only an hour away from them), and Arya Jon’s spit fire little sister.

The bang of a door came from upstairs accompanied by a loud drawn-out “Dadddddddd!” and the sound of someone thundering down the stairs making more noise than a herd of elephants. Ah yes, Arya.

Jon’s younger sister was one of the most infuriating and entertaining people Gendry had ever met. She couldn’t have been more than 5 foot 2, but had by far the largest attitude of all of the Stark children. He didn’t think he’d ever seen here in anything but athletic ware – typically a hoody and a pair of rugby shorts with sneakers that looked so much like her cleats that he could hardly tell the difference when she’d just gotten off the pitch.

She’d been gone the first time he visited the Stark residence, off in a tournament in Maine so he’d first met her when she’d come to Connecticut with her travel team to play some private girls prep school. All of the Stark boys were obsessed with rugby – apparently it was a family thing, like the Kennedys have sailing. Even Jon was into it, and he had been surprised freshman year when he learned his soft spoken roommate actually played for the UConn team. In fact, even though he wasn’t much of a debauched partier like most of the self-proclaimed “Black Brothers”  Jon had been so good that they’d picked him as a captain after his first semester of freshman year. Gendry had never been exposed to the sport before, the South Side of Boston wasn’t really the place for high-class imported British sports, so it hadn’t struck him as odd that Jon’s little sister would play too. He hadn’t even thought it was that strange when the teams had taken the field and Jon’s sister had been a full head shorter than all the other girls on the pitch. I mean, it’s like Lacrosse, right? They change the rules for girls, maybe put them in plaid skirts in the process?

Nope. Wrong. Five minutes into the first half they had their first blood sub when two girls collided in a forceful tackle and one of them spit her eyebrow. Arya – who Jon said was her team’s fly half – was everywhere, in the thick of every ruck, right behind every scrum, shouting battle commands to her teammates who miraculously seemed to have no issue taking orders from the 110 pound high school freshman.

She scored her first try after only ten minutes and Gendry had to admit he was thoroughly impressed. She was _good_. She was skinny and short for sure, but far from delicate and so much quicker on her feet than the other girls that she managed to weave her way through the crush of bodies like some kind of violent dancer. She was frustrating the hell out of her opponents, pouching balls easily when they rolled out of sloppy rucks and running plays so fast that they were constantly running back on their heels.

One of the girls, evidently fed up with getting her ass handed to her by some punk kid, horse-collared Arya so badly at the beginning of the first half that the spectators collectively shouted out in protest as her tiny frame was ripped backwards by the neck. The whistle was immediate but not loud enough to drown out Jon’s R-rated exclamation, which was enough to get Gendry really worried for a second (Jon Snow did not yell in public – and he certainly never yelled things that would cause half the helicopter moms in the stands to turn and gape at him in horror). But Arya had just sprung to her feet and taken a quick penalty so rapidly that even her own team didn’t realize what she was doing until after she’d scored a try.

That had been his first impression of Arya Stark – wild, violent, skilled, and unapologetic – and in the four years he’d known her he couldn’t say that his first impression had been wrong. She’d come up to them after the game, bruised and mud covered with her pixy haircut sticking up at odd angles.  Her eyes had been glowing with triumph and delight at seeing Jon and he’d been struck again by how small she was. He couldn’t understand how on earth someone so small could ever want to get into a sport like rugby, but that just showed what he knew. Here they were, four years later, and she was much the same (though she’d grown out the pixie cut, explaining that it was easier to keep hair out of your face by just French braiding it instead of having to get it cut every few weeks) with a full athletic scholarship to UC Boulder to play rugby competitively.

“Daddddddddddd!” she came stomping into the den and Gendry and the two Stark brothers shifted uncomfortably knowing that their sanctuary was about to dissolve into chaos. No fight between Arya and Catelyn was ever anything but. Theon however, who seemed to revel in chaos paused the game and took a healthy swig of his beer, leaning back and grinning as if he couldn’t wait to see the show.

Ned sighed and put down the papers he had in his hand.

“Yes, dear.”

“I’m not going. You tell her no.”

“I have no idea what you’re—“

“Here you are!” Catelyn came in behind her, her hands on her hips and her blue eyes flashing, as ready for a fight as her more patently aggressive child. “Arya Stark don’t you dare try to have him get you out of this. This is a women’s issue and your father has no place—“

“I. Am. Not. Going.”

“Well then, you’ll just have to content yourself with your father and I driving you out to college then and forgo this ridiculous road trip of yours.”

That caught all the boys' attention. The whole reason he and Jon were here was to get ready for the trip; hell they already had the RV packed with half or Arya’s college shit. He’d gotten a mechanical engineering degree, though truth be told all he really ever wanted to do was be a mechanic, and he realized a few months before graduation that he could really take that anywhere and do fine. So when Jon had gotten a job with the Park Service in Bellingham, Washington on the other side of the country and encouraged Gendry to apply out West with him, he had. He’d landed a job in Seattle, and so they decided they’d road trip out there together with all their meager possessions stuffed into the old RV Jon had managed to borrow from his eccentric uncle Benjen and see as much of the country as they could on the way.

Arya had immediately asked to come with and have them drop her off at school. Even though it was kind of weird Gendry had found that he didn’t mind the idea all that much, and so they’d agreed to take her, and for the last few months they’d had an ongoing group text about all the places they’d stop on their four week long trip around the country. And now, a week before they left, Catelyn was threatening to take it all away. Typical.

Jon glanced at Robb, asking him to do something in the silent way the Stark brothers did and Robb in turn looked to their father who sighed and got up putting himself in between the warring Stark women.

“Cat, now let’s not go jumping to that extreme. Why don’t you tell me what this is…” the murderous look he got from his wife caused the last few words to die in his throat, but Arya, seeming to know it was now or never blurted it out.

“She’s trying to force me to go on the pill.”

“What?!” Ned sputtered, clearly not having anticipated the subject of the argument being something so intimate.

“Who would want to have sex with you?” Theon laughed, face alight with glee. He was the only one though, all the other male occupants looked as if they were trapped in a nightmare. Gendry felt his ears go red and desperately felt the urge to flee but couldn’t bring himself to push through the Stark women who were currently blocking the only exit. Robb was staring intently at the coffee table looking like he was trying to memorize the exact pattern of the wood, and Jon poor soul was as red as a tomato.

Arya took off her flip flop and flung it at Theon’s head without breaking her gaze away from her mother who huffed in frustration.

“I am not _forcing_ her on the pill. I am _strongly suggesting_ that she get protection, and I am _demanding_ that she go to the ob-gyn before she goes on this confounded trip so that she can get her first pap-smear and get tested.”

“Get tested for what? Oh my gods mom!” she said in frustration.

“Arya you do know you can get things from activities other than sex? Even things you do with girls…” Catelyn said in an undertone, as if anything she said in this room could be at all discrete.

“Gods Mom is that what this is about? What is wrong with you? How many times do I have to tell you and Sansa – and _yes_ I do know that you ask her to ask me – that I’m not gay! Why is it so hard for you to understand that it is possible for a girl to enjoy playing sports without having the urge to eat her teammates out in the locker room after games?!”

Somehow through his haze of embarrassment images of Arya Stark having sordid encounters with other women in locker room showers began to blossom in his mind. He shook himself feeling his cheeks flush. Where the hell had that come from?

“Don’t you use that crass language with me young lady! And _no_ , this is not about me thinking you’re gay, this is about me worrying about what happens when you seize on an idea and just go for it without thinking like you always do. If you can’t even stop to think how inappropriate the things you think are before you say them how the hell am I supposed to trust in your ability to get protection before you do something with a boy? And besides, there are literally no downsides for you! It’s not like you’re going to get fat with all the rugby you’ll be playing and if anything it’ll just help you fill out like you’re supposed to…“

“Dad,” Arya said rounding on her father and holding him in her gaze her eyes flashing as if she dared anyone to bring up her mother’s jibe against her unladylike physique. “I don’t want to go. I am not having sex and I do not want to get a pap smear. Do you know what they make you do for those? They make you lay back on your back with _no_ pants or anything on with your legs like strapped open just _waiting_ there with your knees spread for the doctor to stick something into you that stretches out your…”

“Arya.” Her father managed running a hand over his face in exasperation. Jon was literally clenching his eyes shut as if he could will himself out of the room and this heinous conversation if he only tried hard enough, while Robb’s eyes remained locked on the coffee table with his hands fisted in his hair in an apparent attempt to rip the uncomfortable thoughts out of his head by the roots. Their distraction was probably a good thing, as Gendry saw Theon’s smirk waiver slightly as he shifted on the couch. Gendry had readjusted a boner enough times to recognize the act when he saw it.

 _Ass_. He thought to himself. _And not ten minutes after you said no one would want to have sex with her you fucking perv._

Shit, not that he was much better, he thought realizing as he thought out his condemnation of Theon that he’d gone hard as well. What the fuck was wrong with him – sitting here on Jon’s fucking couch popping a halfie listening to his baby sister argue with her parents about a _doctor’s appointment_.

 _To be fair_ , a small voice in his mind chimed in, _she was talking about laying back with her knees spread waiting for someone to stretch out her…_

Nope. Stop. Not going there.

He looked up to see that her father had drawn her into the adjoining kitchen where he was talking to her in a low voice, while her mother leaned against the adjacent counter top rolling her eyes at their exchange. She was stiff at first but then seemed to relax somewhat, finally pushing her father affectionately before grabbing her keys and leaving out the back door, off on some errand.

The Stark brothers looked relieved, glad to be dealing with anything but that, but Gendry felt a small wave of disappointment in not knowing how the conflict had been resolved. Then he shook himself and stood up to get another beer, trying to shake himself internally.

He had no business wondering if Arya Stark was on the pill or not, and this was about to be one long ass car ride.

 


	2. Goodbyes and Hellos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So this is probably going to be a long-ish story with them interacting with different people at the various stops along the way so don't be surprised if its different POVs - it will focus on the three doing the road trip I promise :) Let me know what you think!

Catelyn

 

"Just be careful," she said to her daughter for the seventh time that morning. The teenagers grey eyes, so like her fathers, gave her an exasperated look that told her quite clearly that her daughter thought she was far past the age of needing her mother’s be-carefuls.

"I'll be fine mom," Arya ground out in a tone that was more exasperating than reassuring. Oh Arya. Her youngest girl, always in such a hurry to take on the next adventure. Could it really be time for her to let her go off on her own? Gods how the years flew by…

She must’ve looked ready to say something more to delay the goodbye, because Ned raised his eyebrows at her, giving her a knowing but insistent nod. She took the hint, hugging Arya one last time before letting her go and watching her bound up the steps to the RV.

She couldn't help it. “

And remember to text me Arya Stark the minute you get to the Baratheons! And don't get under their feet, it's nice enough for them to let you park this atrocity at their house while you visit Sansa, don't overstay your welcome!"

"Yes Mother! I love you! Bye!" Arya said, still exasperated but with a little bit more kindness than was normal underlying her voice. The engine revved, and Jon shifted the RV into drive.

She stepped back and sighed and Ned clapped a consolatory hand on her shoulder and gave her a squeeze of support.

"She'll be alright KitCat, and Jon would die before he let something happen to her, you see that don't you?"

She stiffened in spite of herself. Ah yes, the bastard. She supposed she should've said some type of farewell to him but somehow it had slipped his mind. Besides, they were adults now, there was no point in pretending anymore that she didn't hate the sight of him. She allowed him in her house, and that was much better than he would've gotten from other wives.

"It's not him I'm worried about. I can't believe you're sending them to the Baratheons. It's like you're trying to bait Cersei."

He chuckled and waived his hand dismissively. "It's just a theory Cat. It's true that Robert was a bit of a Casanova when we were in law school together, but not every twenty-something blue-eyed bastard in Boston can be his."

"It's more than that and you know it, Eddard Stark." She bit out, her voice coming out sharper than she'd intended. She was in no mood to discuss the good old days of his and Robert’s youth.

“Yes dear. You’re probably right, but what am I supposed to say? Sansa’s got her show, and Robert offered, and it’s not like they have many options of parking places for RVs in New York. Frankly I’m just glad that Arya agreed to go and support her sister at all, I didn’t really give much thought to the boys.”

“Mmm.” She said noncommittally. There was no point in arguing about it now, they were already on their way.

“Cat. It will be fine. Besides, Robert’s been talking a lot about wanting me to come and help him, with the campaign and, if things go the way we think they’ll go, in the administration afterwards. There’s no way that a little bit of speculation about the paternity of some bastard from South Side is going to ruin my relationship with the Baratheons.”

She sighed, sure he knew what he was talking about but still unable to shake an odd feeling of foreboding.

“Mhm. We’ll see.”

 

Jon

 

“If you had let me drive we’d be there already.”

“If you think I’m going to let you drive an RV for the first time on I-90 between Boston and New York you’re insane.”

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Jon gave his sister a glance telling her quite clearly to shut up but Arya just shrugged.

“You are. If you give people this much room to cut in front of you in New York they’ll just use it as an excuse to fuck you.”

He didn’t say anything, just glared at the road, which was good, because at that moment a Ford F-150 from the line to his right decided to cut in front of him and stop short.

“Told you,” Arya said and Jon heard Gendry chuckle from where he was sitting behind him.

“You’re supposed to be my ally!” he called over his shoulder to his roommate jokingly, “It’s your job to stop my reckless teenage sister from pressuring me to join her in her reckless teenage schemes.”

“I never knew you were so susceptible to peer pressure, Snow,” he called wryly back.

“It’s not peer pressure, it’s Arya pressure, and that means it’s far more deadly.”

Gendry snorted at that, and out of the corner of his eye Jon saw Arya’s head snap around to look at him.

“Sorry Princess, you’ll have to save that routine for your brother, it’s not going to work on me.”

“Don’t call me that, I’m no princess.”

Jon, seeing an opportunity to get Arya back for her unsolicited driving critiques, piped up, “Noooooo not at all… she’s not a princess. She _is_ a lady though on her mother’s side. Did you know that Gendry? Arya’s maternal grandfather is a British Earl… where’s he at in the line of succession now Arya? I forget, is it 38 or 39?”

She smacks him, growling “shut up!” but he just grins knowing he got her.

“It’s not funny it’s just some stupid family thing, both of you quit laughing.”

“As milady commands,” Gendry says back, not missing a beat. She huffs in exasperation, sounding so much like the petulant kid that he grew up with that Jon’s smile only broadens. One of the hardest things about leaving for college had been living without Arya. Each time he came back she was mostly the same, but every once and a while she would throw him for a loop and he’d have to deal with the fact that she’s not actually the preteen he left behind anymore.

Like the time he’d caught her with Micah in the hot tub last Christmas break. It was Stark ritual to lounge out in the hot tub after a rugby game, letting the jets and warm water sooth some of the aches from a hard won match. So when he got home from college a day earlier and saw the cover off he’d known it was her (he’d called his father on the drive up and knew the rest of the family was visiting Bran at the hospital) and walked out to surprise her.

And surprise her he had, though not as much as she surprised him. She was in the hot tub sitting on Micah’s lap, wearing nothing but string bikini bottoms, kissing him fiercely while the bumbling idiot of a butcher’s boy kneaded her bare chest inexpertly.

“What the fuck!” Jon had yelled, more out of shock than anything else.

She’d turned around a look of annoyance on her face, but then caught sight of him and beamed, launching herself off the butcher’s boy and out of the Jacuzzi. Micah looked like his heart had just stopped, and scrambled out of the hot tub too, grabbing a towel and hastily backing away towards the porch stairs.

“Jon!” She cried ecstatically, moving to throw her arms around him in greeting as if she wasn’t sopping wet and 98% naked. He slammed his eyes shut, and held up his hands to stop her, feeling the pink spread across his face.

“Nah-uh. Clothes first.”

She had laughed and muttered “prude,” but threw her sweatshirt on anyway and then hugged him around the middle tightly.

He’d sent the butcher’s boy running with a look, but Arya didn’t seem to mind, instead yammering on about her team, their chances to go to nationals this season, and the most recent morsels of wisdom her coach Syrio had given her. It wasn’t until later, when they out at their favorite pizza joint and Jon had a beer in hand that he worked up the nerve to ask her about it.

“So you and Micah… is that a thing? I gotta be honest I never thought he was anything more than a friend…”

“Oh he’s not,” she said shrugging, “I just don’t want to go to college a virgin, and he’s easy.”

Jon had actually choked on his beer at that, which might have been for the best because otherwise he probably would have had to respond. There were a million things he should say – like since when do you have any interest in sex, and why the hell do you feel the need to rid yourself of your virginity – but none that would go over well and even less that he had the nerve to vocalize. So instead, in one of his rare moments of being a less-than-stellar big brother, he’d changed the subject.

But thinking back on it now, he wondered if she and the butcher’s boy had ever finished what he’d interrupted, or worse – if she’d found another guy to help her check that off her high school bucket list. She’d told Catelyn that she wasn’t having sex, and it wasn’t like Arya to lie. So that probably meant they hadn’t, and as he turned into the Baratheon’s driveway, Jon told himself that he’d make damn sure that she didn’t achieve that particular pre-college goal on his watch.

The house was massive, but what else would you expect from a senator who’s married to the daughter of one of the richest billionaires in the world? If he was intimidated by it, growing up at Winterfell like he did, he couldn’t imagine how Gendry must be feeling. Still, Robert was nice enough, if a little rough around the edges (his father said it was what made him such a hit with blue collar New Yorkers) so hopefully meeting him would put Gendry a little more at ease. With that in mind, as soon as they parked he jumped out of the car, made a bee line for the front steps, and rang the doorbell before his two travel companions were even out of the car.

He was relieved to see it was Robert who answered, rather than his bitch of a wife. Tommen or Myrcella wouldn’t be too bad, they’d both always been nice if somewhat subdued, but if Joffery had come to the door he really might just have turned around and left.

When he saw on Robert beamed, and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Come in! Come in! Christ Jon, you’re the spitting image of Ned! No need for Maury to figure out who the father is for this one, eh?”

Yup. Robert was still Robert. Jon ignored the comment about his paternity, giving him what he hoped sounded like a genuine hello and turned to introduce Gendry who had taken his motorcycle off the rack in the back of the RV and was just now walking up the front steps, his eyes wide.

“Senator Baratheon—“

“Oh none of that Jon, I’ve known you since you were running around in diapers.”

“I’m sorry, _Robert_ this is my roommate Gendry.”

Gendry mounted the last of the steps to come stand on the front porch and extended his hand politely. Jon, who was used to looking tiny next to Gendry was surprised to see that Robert was actually just as tall as his roommate, with a similarly broad chest that made them both look even bigger.

“Good to meet you, kid. Good god, it’s not every day I have to tilt my head up to look someone on the eye. You a friend from rugby then? You’re built like a brick shit house.”

Gendry’s eyes widened – he probably hadn’t anticipated his first interactions with a U.S. Senator-cum-presidential candidate to include the phrase ‘brick shit house’ – but he recovered quickly and shook his head grinning shyly.

“No sir. Couldn’t with my work schedule. And I’m not so sure I’d be any good to be honest, I don’t know the rules, honestly I never even heard of it growing up.”

“Oh yeah? And where was that?” Robert said, crossing his arms, and looking at Gendry interestedly.

“Southside of Boston, sir,” Gendry said, looking down slightly as he did. Jon knew how embarrassing it was to tell people he was a bastard, but he felt for Gendry, having to do that and out himself as dirt poor anytime people asked where he comes from.

Robert’s eyes widened slightly, though Jon didn’t think it was because he was surprised by the humbleness of Gendry’s beginnings. The older man looked his roommate over once more, with a look in his eye that Jon couldn’t quite place. Then the moment was gone and Robert shook himself slightly before turning back to Jon, jovial smile back on his face.

“Well where’s your sister then? Or did Good Ol’ Cat pull the plug on her fun at the last minute after all?”   


“I think she’s coming right now… Arya!” he called, peering back over his shoulder to look at the RV.

“Coming!”

He heard the back door of the RV slam and she came around to their side of the RV, hauling her suitcase and balancing a large box on one hip, causing her to sway as she walked in a very uncharacteristically feminine way. She’d clearly been digging in the hot storage compartment, because she’d shed the sweatshirt she was wearing in the RV, her hair was down in a curly tangled mess, and she was flushed from heat and exertion.

“It’s impossible to get things out from behind your stupid tools, Gendry, I don’t know why on earth you think you’ll need them all in Seattle especially because you’ll be making enough money to _pay_ someone to work on your bike like a normal person,” she said irritably, walking up the steps. Then remembering herself, she gave Robert a smile and a bright hello and put her stuff down, moving to hug him.

Jon looked back at Robert then and was shocked at the look on his face. He was looking at Arya with a mixture of bewilderment and something almost like longing in his eyes, staring at her like he was memorizing every inch of her. He accepted her hug with enthusiasm, pulling her against himself tighter than Jon thought was strictly necessary and whispering “Lyanna.”

And Jon found himself wishing that Arya still had a sweatshirt on over her tank top, and that his father had given him _some_ kinds of a heads up. Because he really wasn’t sure how to handle the next President of the United States wanting to fuck his little sister.


	3. Lessons in History and Rugby

Gendry

 

As he stood on the Baratheon’s enormous back porch, watching Jon and Arya practice Arya’s rugby fundamentals, Gendry reflected that he had really no idea what to make of Robert Baratheon. Maybe he just wasn’t used to being around wealthy people, or maybe there’s just something particularly eccentric about politicians, but whatever it was he was un-fucking-comfortable and ready to get on the road.

They were going to spend the night at the Baratheon mansion out in Scarsdale, just a quick ride away from the city, so they could go to Sansa’s design exhibition tomorrow. He honestly started feeling uncomfortable the moment _Robert_ – as he insisted on being called – greeted Arya. At least he wasn’t alone in that, he’d seen Jon’s face while they were embracing and he could tell his roommate was at a loss. Arya, on the other hand, didn’t seem to notice the suggestiveness of the old man’s hug in the slightest, and instead just picked up her things and began answering all his questions about rugby enthusiastically as he led them into the house. Gendry and Jon had followed – because what else could you do? – and Robert had shown them each to their rooms.

He wasn’t sure if it made it better or worse that he’d heard the older man whisper “Lyanna” under his breath. Maybe it was because Robert Baratheon was about to run for president and that was overwhelming enough, or maybe it was because he’d never met anyone who was a _United States Senator_ before, but somehow Gendry had managed to push the infamous Lyanna Stark Affair to the back of his mind until just then.

Everyone with half an education knew at least _something_ about the Affair - hell, it was America’s biggest political scandal since Watergate. But for Gendry the facts of that particular political upheaval were burned into his mind, despite everything having taken place when he was still in diapers, because nothing could ever wipe from his mind how awkward it had been to sit beside Jon in a 200 kid lecture hall when they covered the Targaryen Downfall.

They’d both needed another humanities credit going into sophomore year, so they’d picked Intro to American Politics. Everyone knew poli-sci classes were less writing than history classes, and Jon had said he was practically raised on the stuff, so Gendry figured it’d be as painless as a non-engineering class could be.

Everything had been fine until week six, when they got to Aerys Targaryen’s Presidency. Jon had tensed when the Maester gave a summary of the lesson plan and Gendry had felt a wave of sympathy for his roommate. He’d almost suggested leaving, but didn’t like the idea of drawing attention to themselves by getting up in the middle of lecture. Besides – how in depth would they really go into the whole thing in class? The Maester would probably just give the highlights and then go into the executive branch reforms and it’d all be over in half a lesson.

Gendry had never been more wrong. Apparently, the Maester had written an _entire book_ about the Lyanna Stark Affair and, like all specialized Maesters forced to teach large introductory survey classes, was itching to talk about something he found interesting.

Lyanna Stark had been one of America’s golden children. She was the daughter of a Vietnam War hero turned Attorney General, and an Olympian to boot. She’d taken gold in women’s figure skating in the 1988 Olympics – beating the Soviets at their own winter games – and the country had fallen in love. She’d even gotten complimented by the son of the sitting president – in a way some said pushed the boundaries of common decency – but then she’d gotten engaged to Robert Baratheon, a promising young entrepreneur from New York and housewives around the country swooned with happiness when they announced their pregnancy.

And that’s when everything had gone to shit. According to the Maester, on the day the story broke it was the only thing getting any coverage on any of the news stations. Lyanna Stark had come into DC for the State of the Union in January 1991, and had been staying at the W Hotel downtown with her betrothed. She’d gone home early – she was five months pregnant after all – while Robert had stayed out going to various events afterwards alongside her father and Senator Arryn. When Robert got back to the hotel room at two in the morning she was gone.

By 2:07 metro police found the video tape that would change the course of American history forever. The security camera in the parking lot of the hotel showed Rhaegar Targaryen, the eldest son of the Commander and Chief of the United States, carrying a seemingly-unconscious and visibly pregnant Lyanna Stark out of the hotel, placing her gently in the back of his Mercedes, and driving away into the night.

The next day Attorney General Rickard Stark had held a press conference on his own announcing a full-scale investigation into the abduction against the express orders of the Targaryen Administration. Within two hours he had been sacked as Attorney General and arrested for seditious conspiracy.

“That,” the Maester had said almost gleefully, “is when things really got interesting!”

Nearly half the Senate had moved immediately to impeach but the powerful Lannister Lobby managed to keep and real efforts from going forward. Robert, meanwhile, had gone from media event to media event, leading massive protests in New York and Chicago and rallying international support for an investigation and the impeachment of Aerys – now thought by many to be mad with power.

“With each day she was missing, the support grew,” the Maester had explained, “but even with all that, I don’t know that it would’ve gone as far as it did without Ned Stark. Ned was really the nail in the Targaryen’s coffin – here I want you all to watch this. This was one of the most important speeches of our time, I know some of you have heard it…”

And then he’d played the video. Ned Stark, who’d been best friends with Robert Bartheon at Harvard Law had followed in the Stark tradition and joined the military after finishing his education, which meant that when Lyanna Stark disappeared in January of 1991 he was in serving in Operation Desert Storm, investigating the Iraqis for war crimes perpetrated against the Kuwaitis. In the video – where he made his famous plea for help finding his then seven-month pregnant sister – he was wearing his desert-colored army fatigues. His face was clean shaven, his hair was cut short, and his jaw line was slightly less angular, but as asked the nation for help with unshed tears in his soulful grey eyes he was the spitting image of Jon.

Throughout the lecture hall people had turned to stare at Jon as the video of his father played, gaping at him in disbelief. Jon had desperately tried to shrink down in his seat, making himself as inconspicuous as possible, but it had been no use. Eventually the Maester had caught on, and stopped the speech, clearing his throat awkwardly before wrapping up the rest of the lecture.

Only five weeks later Lyanna had been dropped off in front of a hospital in Barcelona, mere minutes after having delivered. The preeclampsia had been too far along though, and the whole country had gone into mourning when news of her death reached America’s shores. The cover of every newspaper had been plastered with the same picture of Ned, in his dress uniform, collapsing in a sob on the steps of the hospital as orderlies carried her coffin down into the waiting hearse. The impeachment had come immediately, as had Rickard Stark’s release and the dropping of his charges, but the whole affair had been too much for the old War Horse. He died of a heart attack three weeks after his daughter’s funeral leaving the country bitter and mutinous. A week later, Rhaegar Targaryen was found dead in the bathtub of a Parisian hotel – a winter rose in one hand and a revolver in the other. No one ever found out what happened with the child.

By the time the elections came fifteen months later, the Old Dragon Party was out, and the Stags – spearheaded by the young Baratheon Congressman from New York – had swept both houses of Congress, promising a check on the executive like the country hadn’t seen in years. It was a bit ironic seeming now – especially since they had, at the last minute, gained the support of the same powerful and corruptive Lannister Lobby that had enabled the Targaryens – but at the time it had seemed like a tremendous change.

Stewing over the Lyanna Stark Affair, Gendry supposed that maybe he’d judged Robert a bit to harshly. Having gone through all that, maybe getting a bit nostalgic at the sight of Arya could be excused. So when the older man came out onto the porch, carrying two Budweisers and handing one to him before coming to lean against the railing to watch the two Stark siblings go through their exercises, he decided he should really give the older man a second chance.

“You tapping that?”

“What?!”

Robert raised his eyebrows conspiratorially and gestured towards Arya, who was couched low driving into Jon with one arm as she held the ball protectively back in the other, with his beer.

“You can tell me, I’m not so uptight like her puritan Northern parents. Not too long ago I was a young strapping guy like yourself, strong as a fucking ox and eager to get my cock sucked by every woman on this earth. So come on, just between us boys, what’s your game plan?”

Gendry was at an utter loss.

“Arya and I are just friends, Mr. Baratheon.”

“I told you already it’s Robert, and I have to say son, that sounds like an awful big waste of an opportunity with this cozy little trip you two are taking…”

He had actually never been so uncomfortable in his life. “Even if she weren’t Jon’s sister, Arya’s way too young – I mean not actually but just how she is – to even think about—“

“Gendry!!” She called in that instant, running up to the deck and making him jump and flush red as if he’d been caught in the act of something awful.

“What?!”

“I need your body.”

He gaped at her as Robert choked on his beer.

Oh gods. She’d overheard. Now _this_ was the most uncomfortable he’d ever been in his life, he wanted to melt into the deck and never be a thing again.

“You- you _what_?”

She gave him a look rolling her eyes as if he were painfully dim-witted. “Not like that stupid. We’re doing tackle practice, I need you to stand in.”

“You can’t tackle me, I’m at least twice your size!” he said, though relief washed over him. She hadn’t overheard after all.

She gave him a hard look. “The drill doesn’t involve _me_ tackling _you_ ,” she said slowly as if he were incapable of comprehending at a normal speed, “it’s me who’s getting tackled and getting off a pass to Jon before I go to ground. That’s why I need a third person.”

“Oh. Well if you’re sure I won’t hurt you…” Gendry mumbled setting his beer down, careful not to make eye contact with Robert Fucking Baratheon whose face was split in an all-too devious grin.

She rolled her eyes at him and huffed out “I’m not breakable” before calling out to Jon to come over to their side of the back yard and moving to set up some cones in a small box.

“Oh and Gendry?” she said, looking up as she dropped the last cone into place.

“Yes, milady?” he said going back to their earlier joke because a part of him just liked to push her buttons.

“Just so you know – if I wanted to tackle you, it would take me all of five seconds to get you laid out on your back, looking up at me on top of you, not knowing what to do with yourself.”

Gendry felt himself redden as Robert’s booming laugh sounded from the deck above. The old man just shook his head and muttered “wasted opportunity,” as he took another swig of beer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So I know this one got a lot darker than previous ones, but I was just trying to think through how I was going to make it line up with canon (kind of) in a modern world and got a little out of control. But I tried to throw in some sexual awkwardness at the end to lighten things up! Next chapters will include more awkwardness and a little bit of action so stay tuned! And as always I welcome and appreciate your comments!


	4. Hot Child in the City

 

Arya

 

She fidgeted the whole train ride into the city. It was really ridiculous that she still reacted like this - I mean she's been going back and forth to New York since she was an infant. Still, there was something about just being in the city that made her restless. She didn’t like the feeling that there were people everywhere she went. There was no going on a run just to be alone – not unless you counted dodging pedestrians, dog walkers, street vendors and the occasional bike delivery guy as being alone. She knew she could survive in the concrete jungle if she had to, but it was by no means her first choice.

Jon, sitting next to her with his headphones in, was similarly sullen. In spite of her bad mood she smiled at the sight of him. Ah her brother, she could always count on him to be right there with her on all matters of opinion. Even in her unjustified prejudice against the Big Apple, they were of one mind, more alike than any of her full siblings. Jon was just her person.

She looked over at Gendry who was staring out the window with interest.

_City boy_ , she thought, somewhat derisively. _He's welcome to it_.

 

\-----

 

Within five minutes of arriving at Sansa's apartment Arya was ready to leave. It was immaculate as always, the furnishing a testament to her very real skills as an interior designer. As much as Arya thought it was a stupid thing to do with one’s life she had to admit, it was the perfect path for her older sister.

They got along better now thy Sansa was out of the house and enrolled in Parsons School of Art and Design in the city. They'd fought constantly while they were both at Winterfell, frequently screaming at each other loudly enough to wake the neighbors. They didn't argue so much now, she couldn't remember the last time she'd really screamed at Sansa, but instead they’d come to a silent agreement where there were some subjects they just did _not_ discuss.

Like Sansa's God awful taste in men. Their mother and father were thrilled when Sansa told them about her relationship, but Arya could not understand what in the world would possess anyone to voluntarily spend time with Joffery Baratheon. Just knowing she was going to have to spend one night in his company was enough to put her in a sour mood. That and Sansa's current anxiety about her appearance was enough to make her wish she could be anywhere but here.

"You didn't say anything about it being a dress up thing, how was I supposed to know?" Arya ground out logically, as her sister gaped in horror when she told her she didn’t have another change of clothes.

"It's not a dress up thing Arya, it's just not the kind of thing you can where workout clothes and Adidas slip-ons. You know, like basically all events that take place outside the gym."

Maybe they'd get into a screaming match after all.

"Well I'm sorry but you didn't say."

Sansa gave her a look like she was putting her through Herculean trials, but nodded.

"I know, I know, I should've known with you. Hmmm. Well I mean you could borrow some of my clothes..."

"Don't be ridiculous Sans, your sister is like half your size, she'd be swimming in your stuff." Sansa's roommate Margaery interjected unhelpfully.

Sansa blushed with embarrassment and Arya glared at the older girl. Arya wasn’t all that well versed in the petty micro-politics of how women interacted with one another, but she was smart enough to know a passive aggressive insult when she heard one. Margaery just beamed at her, intentionally oblivious to the glare Arya was giving her and continued.

“We should take her shopping! She probably needs some actual clothes anyway, and this way we can pick what they’ll be!”

Arya literally couldn’t think of anything she wanted to do less. She looked at the boys for support but they were both sitting on the very edge of Sansa’s very breakable looking living room chairs both seeming completely focused on getting out of there without damaging anything.

“Gendry and I can kill time in Central Park and then meet you at the pub closest to the show, if you guys want.” Jon offered.

_Traitor._ Arya thought and she glared at him but he just shrugged half apologetically.

“Yup, that works for me.”

“Perfect!” Margaery cried, and without waiting for Arya to put up a fight she grabbed her purse off the counter and took a hold of Arya’s arm, tugging her out the door.

 

 

Gendry

 

 

Joffery Baratheon was a fuck boy.

There was really no other way to put it, he thought, admiring Jon’s self-control as the little douche alternated between making lewd comments about Sansa and hitting on other girls at the bar. They were waiting in a bar that Sansa had told them about outside the design expo where her work was being showcased, and so until the girls came the only thing Jon and Gendry could do was sit and wait.

Gendry, refusing to acknowledge Joffery any more than he absolutely had to, pretended to be absorbed in the baseball game being shown on the TV screen in front of him. He hated baseball (what a fucking boring thing to watch) but it gave him an excuse not to listen to Joffery. How had he become such a prick anyway? Robert wasn’t a saint by any means – but at least he wasn’t such a little bitch…

“Jesus Christ!” Joffery said, and Gendry squeezed his eyes shut with exasperation. “Check out the tits on her! Where have they been hiding my entire life?”

He felt Jon stiffen in the seat next to him and move as if to confront Joffery and Gendry grabbed his friend’s arm to keep him seated. Not that he would’ve minded seeing Jon take the little shit to task, but Joffery Baratheon was a little shit with a personal body guard. Even though Robert hadn’t formally announced his candidacy yet, his wife Cersei had insisted that her children get security details. This guy was far from the clean-cut secret service agents that would one day be assigned to the Baratheon children – no Sandor Clegane was a hardened ex-con, who would look more at home in a biker bar than in the oval office. Still, granted that Joffery likely needed protection more from the bar fights he instigates himself than from terrorist assassination attempts, Gendry supposed the man fit the bill. He was certainly intimidating enough for the job, and so Gendry gave his friend’s arm a squeeze trying to tell him to let it go without taking his eyes off the game.

Besides, why should Jon be that upset that Joffery was being rude about some girl at the bar after all? That was far from the worst thing Baratheon had said all night…

“How’s Napoli doing on first?”

Arya’s voice came from right behind him making him jump and almost spill some of his pint onto the bar in surprise. He grinned though, glad that she was back with them and that there would be another person besides Joffery for him and Jon to talk to.

He started to turn saying, “Don’t tell me you actually know all their…”

The words died in his throat as he caught sight of her. She was in a dress, not just a dress but one of those bandage dresses that clung to every curve of her except for where there _was_ no dress which, incidentally, was a lot of places. It was a deep metallic silver color – more the color of iron than anything else but with some shine to it – and sleeveless, with two thick straps and a sweetheart neckline. ‘Sweetheart’ was an interesting term for it – the thoughts that it gave him were far from sweet – and from where he was perched on his barstool he got an excellent view of what had made Joffery exclaim, and what had made Jon mad enough to prepare to hit the son of a sitting senator in front of his felon of a bodyguard. Much as he hated the Baratheon boy he had to admit he had a point – is that really what Arya looked like when she wasn’t in a sports bra?

“You can’t wear that,” Jon’s voice stubborn and flat cut through Gendry’s daze.

“What?” Arya gave her brother a quizzical look, “why not? Do you know what I just had to go through to get them to agree on a stupid fucking outfit so I could get down here and see the game? Don’t make me go back up to them, I’ll never get free,” she said half-jokingly, clearly oblivious to what Jon was upset about. “But if you want to tell them the heels are unsafe be my guest – I’ve been trying to convince them that I can just wear my flip-flops since we left the house.”

“Arya…” Jon began sounding so much like Ned that Gendry would’ve cracked a smile in spite of the awkwardness of the situation had Joffery Fucking Baratheon not chosen that moment to cut in.

“I think you look fantastic Stark, don’t let your big brother spoil your fun.”

Arya gave Joffery a side-long look as if trying to figure out if he was pulling her leg or not before saying “Thanks?” guardedly and coming around to lean against the bar on the other side of Gendry.

He jumped up, mumbling something about her taking the stool, and positioned himself behind her, putting his entire six-foot-three 210 pound frame between her and Joffery Baratheon. Jon, who was seated next to him saw what he was doing and nodded gratefully, though Arya seemed too enthralled with the game to really notice.

“Arya,” Jon tried again, switching tactics and leaning against his little sister conspiratorially, “don’t you think you’d be more comfortable—“

“Time to go!” Sansa’s voice rang out, and the group of people near them began to shift and prepare to cross the street into the exhibition hall.

Arya gave her brother’s hand a little squeeze and then hopped up from her seat. “Don’t worry I won’t embarrass you like when we were little, if that’s what you’re afraid of. I can actually walk in heels now, and I’m under very strict orders from Sansa to keep my legs closed so I don’t scandalize anyone at her show thing. It’ll be fine.”

Gendry felt his ears redden and Jon’s face looked like he’d just received a death sentence. Still Snow somehow bravely got up and followed his little sister out the door, with Gendry trailing behind, wishing for once in his life that Arya being embarra was the strongest emotion running through his mind.

The show turned out to be kind of cool, and better yet the expo hall it was in turned out to be freezing and Gendry was able to convince Arya to take his sports coat without much difficulty. Jon had silently thanked his friend with a nod, and Gendry found himself thinking for the first time in his life that it might be easier not to have a sister like Arya to give him heart palpitations on a daily basis. She was doing that enough already – and they weren’t even kin.

They wandered around the expo, the group spreading out as they went. The whole thing was set up as a maze of temporary walls, each bringing you through another interior designer’s layout of five rooms. Sansa had called it a Tour de Chambre, but there was not a chance in hell he’d call it that. He wasn’t really even sure how to pronounce Chambre—‘sham-bruh?’ ‘sham-breh?’—but still, he didn’t hate walking through the maze of rooms, snagging drinks along the way. Arya was walking in front of him, and being a surprisingly good sport about the whole thing, even appearing to enjoy herself. The furniture did nothing for her, but he noticed she stopped to really take in some of the art along the way. It was funny to think of her as more than just the gangly sports-playing preteen he’d met four years ago.

She was definitely not giving off those vibes now. Even with his sports coat on there was something about the way she walked in heels, or maybe something about her posture that made him hyper aware of the feminine sway of her hips, brushing tantalizingly against his jacket but largely obscured from view.

He jumped, catching himself, and looked around as if any second Jon or Robb would come charging at him for daring to stare at their baby sister’s ass like that. But Jon, seeming to have decided that Gendry was an ally in the “keep-Arya-away-from-Y-chromosomes” cause, had allowed himself to get swept away by one of Sansa’s old friends from Winterfell, and was somewhere ahead of them, probably finding a dark corner with Jeyne Poole as they spoke. When they’d moved off together Arya had looked disgusted, and Gendry had had to stifle a laugh.

“The hell does he see in her anyway?” she’d whined, looking more upset than Gendry would have guessed. Perhaps over-protectiveness was simply a Stark Family trait. Still, not letting the opportunity go to waste, she’d wasted no time in whipping out her fake (a real high class job too – she’d picked it up last summer in Braavos – it was an authentic Faceless Man original) and then proceeded to get drunk.

Well maybe drunk was a bit of a stretch, buzzed would probably be a fairer way to describe it. She wasn’t misbehaving or anything, but something about the way she was smiling, about the way her usual brisk pace has slowed to a stroll as she admired the work, just gave off vibes of cat-like luxurious relaxation. It was… decidedly unexpected coming from Arya.

She sidled over to the bar to get her third jack and coke and he took a seat across the room from her, watching her as she leaned over the bar, standing on her tip toes, waiting for the catering guy to notice her. Suddenly Joffery Baratheon, who had been engaged in conversation a moment ago is right behind her, his hand reaching up underneath the hem of her dress.

“Just like I thought – I knew you were a feistier fuck than your sister but still no panties at a nice event like thi—“

Gendry had seen red from the moment that creep touched her but before he could get to them he heard the sickening crunch as Arya’s elbow connected with the blond boy’s nose.

Blood spurted everywhere, and guests all turned around in alarm – a phenomenon which only got worse by the second as Joffery bellowed in pain.

“Stupid Cunt!” he screamed at her but Arya didn’t flinch. Then turning on his body guard he screamed “Why didn’t you do something?!”

Clegane did his best to look remorseful (though he was clearly not that torn up about it) and muttered something about not seeing that she was poised for the attack. Joffery seemed to get what he was implying (that the Baratheon heir had brought this on himself) and he glared at Clegane, eyes promising retribution.

Just then, Sansa arrived, and Gndry remembered why he hadn’t just hit Joffery in the first place.

“Oh my god, Joff what happened?” she said, voice full of genuine concern.

“Your sister just fucking attacked me!”

“Are you kidding me?” Arya said her voice wry with sarcasm but also dangerous.

“I was just telling her that I’d thought she’d had enough to drink and she fucking lost it on me!”

“That is such fuckin—“

“How much have you had to drink?!” Sansa said rounding on Arya her blue eyes flashing with fury.

“Three drinks but Sansa that’s not the—“

“Three cocktails in an hour! This is why I can’t take you places Arya you’re too out of control—“

“SANSA! I did not hit him because he told me to stop drinking, I hit him because he was _hitting on me._ ”

“Who would want to hit on you?”

The comment, made in a sneering voice, came from across the room from a brown haired girl with a malicious smirk on her face stood watching the sister’s confrontation with interest. Standing next to her, looking utterly bewildered by her bitchy outburst but with his hand still around her waist, stood Jon.

So this must be Jeyne Poole.

Arya’s eye’s snapped to the girl’s, narrowing in hatred and something else Gendry had never seen there before, and then snapped back to her sister. And then Sansa did the unspeakably bitchy thing, and shrugged cruelly.

“She’s got a point.”

Arya’s eyes fixed on Jon, who was now trying to detach himself from Jeyne as quickly as possible without being down-right rude, and she narrowed her eyes furiously.

“No, you stay – have an awesome rest of your date. Oh and Waters? Thanks for the back-up. Way to come through.”

And before either he or Jon could say anything, she spun on her heel and left. By the time they got to the front door, she was nowhere to be seen.


	5. Playing with Fire

Arya

 

She might be furious and a little tipsy, but Arya Stark was not stupid. She knew she was 5 foot 2, 110 pounds soaking wet, and with nothing more on her than a bandage dress, her fake ID and credit card that she’d managed to shove in the cup of her bra, and Gendry Water’s oversized sports coat. If she’d been a little bit more irate she would’ve dumped his fucking jacket in the trash as she made her way to Fifth Avenue but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it, despite the warmth of the night.

Besides, it wasn’t really _him_ she was mad at anyway, though she could’ve hit him for just fucking standing there like an idiot while Joffery made shit up like the sniveling coward he was. No, it was the shitiness of her siblings that had sent her storming out into the New York night in fury, and her unwillingness to forgive them that prevented her from going back once she realized she’d left her cell on Sansa’s kitchen counter.

Still, she wasn’t stupid, she’d catch a cab to Penn Station and then take Metro-North back to Robert’s and try to hit the hay before Jon and Gendry got back. She didn’t want to talk to anyone right now and she definitely didn’t want to deal with her brother and his best friend. She’d thought she’d hardened beyond being hurt by cruel jokes a long time ago, but there was something about seeing the look of pity on Jon’s face that reduced her to the wounded pre-pubescent kid he still saw her as. And to see that look on Gendry’s face too…

She shook herself, burning with fury and humiliation, and made a B-line for a cab that had miraculously stopped six feet in front of her. She threw open the door unceremoniously, and clambered into the back seat, only to find that there was a guy, already seated in the back, pulling the right side door shut behind him. He turned to look at her quizzically and she realized that she had obviously just gotten into a cab that someone else had hailed like a complete tourist, and was now making an ass out of herself.

She also realized that it was possible for a guy to actually pull off blue hair without giving off serious gay vibes.

“Sorry…” she muttered, trying not to stare at his beautiful purple blue eyes, still wide but now with something more akin to amusement than surprise.

“Don’t be,” he said, his faint southern accent making the words sound far more inviting than they would otherwise, “why don’t we split it? I’m just going straight uptown anyway.”

Every ounce of common sense was telling her _no_ , but something about his slight smile, and her total disaster of a day made her reconsider. Plus there was something about him – something besides the fact that he was a very good looking twenty-something year old guy – something about the shape of his face that just made her feel _safe_ with him. Besides - what’s the worst that could happen anyway? There was a cabby sitting literally two feet from them…

“ _Sure,_ ” she said, pulling the door of the cab closed with a decisive ‘thunk.’ “I’m headed to Penn Station anyway.”

“Leaving the city so soon?” he said, managing to sound both light hearted and genuine at the same time.

“I hate the city,” she said darkly, and he laughed out loud.

“It’s refreshing to hear,” he mused, grinning with amusement. “Everyone here always acts like this place is the only place in the world with anything to offer.”

“It’s got nothing to offer that I want,” she said petulantly, scowling out the window at the passing cars.

“Now that’s not fair, I bet I could change your mind about that.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Oh really? What would you impress me with some $300 dollar dinner? Or maybe some celebrity ridden gala event? Thanks but no thanks, I’ve had enough of this pretentious ass city for one life time.”

He laughed at that. “Who’s been showing you around New York? Is that what they’ve been subjecting you to? No wonder you hate it here. Well whoever it is, they’ve got it all wrong. The best thing about New York is being able to go in cognito – being able to start the day in a boardroom on Wall Street in the morning and end the day in a Polish dive bar in Estoria at night.”

Her eyebrows rose even higher.

“You don’t really strike me as the dive bar in Queens type.”

He flashed her a grin at that, and she knew she was about to let her sense of fun get the best of her. Something about this guy was infectious.

“I’m the in cognito type, it’s the new and different that makes it fun for me.”

She shrugged a shoulder and he nodded out the window.

“Tell you what. You let me take you out to one place – one place I think would actually make you enjoy this city – and we’ll see how you feel about the Big Apple after that.”

She smiled at the offer, preparing herself to say no, but his crooked ‘I dare you’ grin just reminded her so much of someone familiar that she found herself saying “I don’t even know your name yet.”

“I’m Griff.”

“Nymeria.”

“Well Nymeria – what do you say? You willing to risk being proven wrong?”

“Fine, but if I hate it you’re paying my cab fare.”

He just laughed good-naturedly and redirected the cabby to a place called ‘Fat Cat’ in the West Village.

She wasn’t sure what was weirder, the fact that he’d managed to talk her into this so easily or the fact that he’d hit the nail on the head with picking a place that she’d like. Fat Cat was a sort of underground pool hall, except that it had way more than pool to offer. The floor was lined with games and game tables, everything from Ski Ball to Jenga. A band was playing on a cheap platform stage that had been set up against the back wall and everywhere she looked there were people chilling in ripped jeans and sneakers. She was entirely overdressed, but no one seemed to care.

“So, giant chess or Dance Dance Revolution? Or maybe you’re more of a ping pong girl?” he said, grinning at the look on her face as she took the club in. she just pushed him lightly to tell him not to be arrogant and he laughed again, following her across the floor to the ski ball.

Her first try was off, and she realized that her whole center of balance was thrown off by the gigantic coat and heels, and promptly pulled up a chair, sat down, and pulled the heels off, putting them under the chair before placing the suit jacket carefully over the back of the chair.

“Who’s the jacket belong to anyway?” Griff asked, coming back over to her with two beers in his hand. She turned to look up at him, catching his eyes widening momentarily as he took in the sight of her in the dress. After Jeyne’s bitchiness earlier, it was nice to know that at least someone found her attractive. Though Gendry had made a similar face earlier, so maybe that was just a look of alarm and she was just a desperate idiot.

Gendry. The thought of him earlier and Griff’s question made her feel like she should do something to get in touch with him and Jon, even if it were just to tell them that they were idiots and she wasn’t dead. Maybe after this beer she’d ask Griff if she could borrow her cell phone to text Jon. She didn’t know Gendry’s number by heart, and there was no fucking way she was texting _Sansa._ If her brother missed it because he was balls deep in Jeyne Poole and they didn’t know where she was until morning that would be on him.

The thought made her burn with fury again. Maybe she’d ask to borrow a phone when she was done with the drink _after_ this one. Still she felt a tug at her heart at the thought of Gendry potentially worrying. He was too good a guy to be caught up in their family bull shit.

“Nymeria? You still among the living?” Griff asked, pulling her from her thoughts. She realized she’d never answered his earlier question about the jacket, but he let it be, probably deciding that he didn’t want to know. That for some reason was the first thing that made her feel guilty about being there with him – which was ridiculous. Why should she care if it looked like she walked out on her lover right before she got in the cab with him? She didn’t, and she sure as hell didn’t owe it to anyone not to be living in the here and now, enjoying some fun games in a cool bar with a hot guy.

“Oh I’m still here – just trying to envision what your face will be like when I’m done kicking your ass in ski ball,” she said mockingly, swaggering over to the machine to take her turn. She made three bulls-eyes in a row and then stood up triumphantly, stretching out in an exaggerated way, before renewing their competitive banter.

“See it’s all about being loose—“

The words died in her throat as a large, cool hand clapped down on her shoulder. She whirled around, knowing somehow that that was not Griff’s hand from the moment she felt it to see Gendry standing there, looming over her looking at her with more anger in his eyes than she’d seen in years.

“How did you—“

“Put this on,” he said, coolly practically stuffing her back into the suit jacket. “I know it didn’t occur to you princess, that anyone else would be effected by your little temper tantrum, but my phone was in the inside pocket. Androids are traceable, so you can find them if someone robs you, or if you have a petulant teenager make a cry for attention while wearing one.”

His snide accusation burned her, and she felt her temper rise again as she twisted violently out of his grasp.

“Fuck you, Gendry Waters, I don’t need your fucking help, I’m already here with someone and having a great time. Where’s—“

And then she saw Griff, pinned up against the wall opposite to them, by Jon.

“I’d leave it if I were you—“ Gendry started to say but Arya wasn’t listening, she just ran across the room and wrenched at her brother’s arms. Her efforts had no effect on the strength of Jon’s grip but he turned his head to look at her, his eyes wild with fury. She realized she must be a bit drunk then, because for a second she could swear that his familiar grey eyes burned with highlights of Griff’s purple, as if his death stare had sucked some of the color out of her exciting new date’s eyes.

“Jon. Jon, let’s go. Let’s just leave it,” she said, opting for once in her life to try to pacify rather than fight. She must not be that good at it, because instead of loosening his grip Jon just laughs at her – a cruel, mirthless laugh that makes her realize that there might be more to her good natured brother than she’d ever guessed.

“I see a random guy take you away in a cab two hours ago, and then find you here, bending over about to give the whole bar a show, with a fucking Targaryen watching your ass waiting for your skirt to ride up an extra inch and you want me to just leave it?”

“Targaryen?” she said, confusion momentarily overtaking her urge to hit Jon over the head for being such an over-protective dick. Jon snorts at her derisively, almost as if she’s stupid for not knowing, and Griff’s eyes flit from her to Jon, a knowing look spreading over his face before his jaw sets defiantly.

“Starks,” he says coolly, his eyes raking over Jon in exaggerated contempt.

“She is, I’m not,” Jon says in a low voice that Arya would never have recognized as his own if she hadn’t been sanding right there hearing it straight from his lips, “which is bad luck for you my friend. See, I don’t have a family name to uphold, I don’t have to worry about bringing shame on generations of political leaders who haven’t even been born yet. Which means, if I ever catch you with my baby sister again, I _will_ fuck you up without hesitating.”

“Jon!” She said her voice rising with anger. Really what the hell had gotten into him?

“Leave him be, princess,” she heard Gendry say from behind her. She would ordinarily have whipped around and laid into him for ordering her around like that, but the look on Griff’s face froze her momentarily in place. It was a look of complete, unadulterated, hatred and it was so unexpected that for a moment it distracted her from everything else that was going on.

“Baratheon,” he spat, making the name sound like the lowest of all insults. She turned then, in confusion, looking behind Gendry for any sign of Joffery coming in to join their shit show.

But instead she just saw Gendry – wearing a confused expression, his dark brows furrowed over his startlingly blue eyes.

And she knew. And she desperately wished she’d opted to go straight home on Metro-North after all.


	6. Taking Care of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad so many of you enjoyed the last chapter! That was my first time writing Aegon and I'm glad it went over well! Let me know what you think of this... and what you think should come next ;)

 Arya

 

The cab ride home was one of the worst rides of her life. She was so angry at her brother and Gendry that she'd stormed straight into the front seat - leaving the two oversized idiots to share the back. Good. She hoped they were both un-fucking-comfortable after their ridiculous performance in the Fat Cat. The first place she'd actually felt comfortable in New York City and because of _these two_ she’d never be able to show her face in the bar again.

Feeling spiteful she tugged on the handle under the seat and backed her chair up into Gendry’s knees, her temper feeling mildly assuaged by the satisfying thunk and his pained intake of breath that followed. Her eyes flitted to the rearview mirror to see him adjusting in the seat once more, trying in vain to sit up high enough to make the backseat accommodate his huge frame. Her eyes locked on Jon’s who had looked up into the mirror when she backed the seat up onto his friend’s and she narrowed her gaze in challenge.

_Say something Jon Fucking Snow. Tell me not to be a bitch to your friend I fucking dare you._

He looked down instead, which should’ve calmed her down but only made her angrier. After all that in the fucking bar, now these two had nothing to say?

They rode in silence the whole way back to the Baratheons – no one could slip into the silent treatment as effortlessly as Jon and Gendry – so she just sat there, stewing over what to say. She started a lot of conversations in her head that began with ‘you had no right to treat him like that’ and ended with them having to pull over so she could inflict violence on the occupants of the back seat, so instead she said nothing, her jaw locking to keep her from beginning a fight in haste that she wouldn’t be able to end.

She caught Jon looking at her in the mirror a few times and had to resist the urge to flip him off. She couldn’t remember a time when she was this angry with him, but then again she could remember a time when he’d lost his shit like that either. I mean when he had caught her with Micah things had been totally different…

_“find you here, bending over about to give the whole bar a show, with a fucking Targaryen”_

Was it the fact that Griff was a Targaryen that got him so pissed? It’s weird that wasn’t like Jon… I mean sure her whole family was pretty strongly anti-Targaryen but if you had asked her two hours ago she would’ve put Jon at the bottom of that list.

The cab pulled to a stop in front of the Baratheon mansion putting an end to her musings and she flung herself out of the front seat. She was going to leave the idiots to pay for the cab – since they could’ve easily just taken the train back if they hadn’t been being so stubborn and ridiculous – but then the thought that Jon might pay for it out of the fund that their father had set aside in case he needed _to take care of her_ sometime on the trip made her so angry that she sullenly shoved her card into the cab driver’s hand.

“Arya you don’t have to…” Gendry began but she silenced him with a look, and without saying a word to either of her self-appointed honor guards she stomped up the steps, wrenched open the door, and went into the house.

As soon as she got inside she saw the light in the kitchen and heard the voice of the only person who could possibly make her night any more unpleasant than it already was. Looking down the hallway that led into the main part of the house Arya could see Cersei Lannister, leaning against the counter in the kitchen, with a glass of red wine in one hand and the house phone pressed against her ear.

Arya could get to her room without having to pass the dreaded lioness, and she was about to slink up the front stairs as quietly as she could when the door opened behind her and the two boys came in from the night.

Gendry. God damn it. While Arya’s room was reachable from the front staircase the boys' room wasn’t. There room could only be accessed by going around to the main staircase, which would take them straight past Cersei. Though she’d never thought of it before, the fact that Aegon had named Gendry as a Baratheon so quickly made her get a sick, worried feeling in her stomach. Robert hadn’t said anything, and her parents hadn’t mentioned it ever, but part of her knew that letting Cersei Lannister get a good look at Jon’s roommate would only lead to bad things.

Looking back at the boys, she saw the same look of concern flit over Jon’s face when he realized Cersei was in the kitchen. His eyes met hers and for the moment their dispute had to take a back seat. Though to the untrained eye Jon would hardly have looked unsettled at all, even in the semi-darkness Arya would know that look anywhere – Jon was asking her for help.

She sighed as Gendry, completely oblivious to the silent communication passing between the Stark siblings continued to stride towards the hallway unperturbed. She really hoped that his reflexes were as good as she thought they were, or else this was seriously going to hurt.

And with that, she fell backwards in a mock faint.

Strong arms came around her before she hit the ground, and her eyes flew open to see Gendry’s face, only inches from her own burning her with a look of serious concern and something much... less refined. Behind him Jon hovered, his face an impassive mask that Arya knew could only be the product of him knowing the faint was staged.

“Jesus Arya are you alright?” Gendry breathed, his arms still locked around her tightly. Maybe she really was more buzzed than she thought, or maybe it was just being held at this angle, but something was making her feel dizzy and breathless. She just nodded, and he began to stand her up slowly, placing her back on her feet.

“Yes- Jaime hold on one second—Is she going to be sick Jon? Because the sheets in that guest room are Armani,” Cersei called down the hall in a disgusted voice, not bothering to move from her place in the kitchen. Gendry’s back was too the kitchen still, bent partially over holding Arya up, but from what she could see under his arm Cersei didn’t seem to be at all suspicious of Jon’s well-built friend.

“No ma'am, don’t worry, she just rolled an ankle. She’s not used to the heels, is all. Gen will carry her up to the room though just in case it’s a serious sprain,” Jon said, speaking more to Cersei Lannister than Arya thought he ever had in his life but the woman didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. Jon turned then to his friend, and added in an undertone, “you don’t mind do you? My back’s been bothering me all day and she’s not as small as she used to be.”

Gendry’s eyes widened at that and then narrowed, as if he was trying to figure out what Jon was playing at. He seemed to come up with nothing though, and just muttered ‘sure…’ in an undertone before hoisting her off the ground and into his arms. She tried not to shiver when one of Gendry's arms came around her bare legs to hold her against his chest. She looped her arms around his neck to keep her torso upright and she could’ve sworn he gripped her closer, but he could’ve just been readjusting his grip as he started up the stairs.

She must actually be getting heavy, because by the time they got to the top of the stairs Gendry was breathing shallow breaths out through his mouth into her hair. She was feeling breathless herself, though it had nothing to do with exertion, and she sincerely wished he’d been in on their ruse so he would understand that he could put her down now that they were out of the view of the kitchen. But he wasn’t in on it, so instead he just kept her gripped tightly against him, and she could do nothing but try to ignore the tingling bursts of sensation that erupted every time the rough denim of his jeans rubbed against the bare underside of her thigh.

Finally they reached her bedroom, but he just pushed the door open and proceeded to carry her straight to the bed, seating her down on the mattress and then staring down at her with a stern look on his face.

“Look, I know Sansa was wrong about the Joffery thing. I know that he touched you and that you defended yourself like you had every right to do, and that I should’ve spoken up for you then and there instead of being too shy to get in the middle of things. But Gods Arya promise me you won’t just run off like that, in the future no matter what! Your brother and I won’t always be there to take care of you.”

At that her temper flared again and she stood up glaring into his eyes, their faces and bodies only a few inches apart.

“And what in Seven Hells makes you think I need you and Jon to take care of me?”

“Oh for the love of the God’s Arya – I just had to carry you up the fucking stairs, because you nearly collapsed when you got into the house!”

“Gods Gendry you’re so stupid, so _bull-headed_ you don’t even realize! I’m the one taking care of you, idiot!”

He stared down at her, clearly nonplussed and she just strode around him to the door and shut it with a definitive snap.

“Cersei can’t see you, and we’ve no idea how long she’ll be on the phone with her beloved brother so get into the damn bed.   And if you come onto my side, I’ll cut you in your sleep.”


	7. Cuddles and Pit Stops

On the Road Again

Gendry

 

As he snuck out of Arya’s room four hours later in the early light of dawn Gendry reflected that no other sleeping arrangement had ever taken such a toll on his self-control.

First – after she declared that she was keeping him in her bedroom for his protection – they’d argued. He’d told her she was being ridiculous, and she told him he was stupid and had no idea how insane Cersei could be, and that if he needed verification he could ask Jon later but for now he needed to stay put.

Next – after he’d capitulated to wait for ‘a bit while Mrs. Baratheon finishes her phone call’ - she’d told him to “turn around and don’t look.” He’d done as she asked, clenching his eyes shut and trying to think of anything else when the sound of her unzipping her dress right behind him sent tingles running down his spine.

_She’s Jon’s sister._

“You can turn around now.”

She had been in a sports tank-top and boxer shorts climbing into bed, pulling her hair tie out and shaking out her brown locks absent mindedly as she laid down to sleep.

_She’s Jon’s sister._

He’d gotten into bed stiffly and Arya had propped herself up on her forearms, looking at him skeptically.

“What?” he’d said self-consciously, trying to take up as little space as possible in the double bed.

“You’re going to sleep in your dress slacks and button down?”

“Yeah…”

“With your belt on?”

“It’s not exactly kosher for us to be sharing a bed…”

She rolled her eyes at him and turned her head to face the other way muttering ‘whatever.’ He scowled at her turned back, but did reach under the covers to take off his belt. A few minutes later he gave up on the shirt as well, unbuttoning it and pulling it off in an effort to make himself more comfortable.

She shifted and sighed next to him turning onto her side. With the soft moonlight flooding in through the window, Arya’s silhouette was lit up to its best advantage. His hand ached to reach out and caress the dip of her waist, to skim along the flare of her hip…

_She’s Jon’s sister._

Half an hour later she was breathing deeply, clearly asleep, but he was still wide awake hyper aware of her laying there next to him. Every time he got close to dozing off she’d sigh in her sleep or shift towards him. At one point she ended up rolling against him entirely, her side pressed up against his bare chest. He was about to wake her, or at least move her gently back over to her side of the bed, when she’d mumbled “mmm but you promised…” in her sleep, and stretched her arm over his chest, her head nuzzling into his side and her small had forming a tiny fist as it lay between his pecs. He wondered who she was dreaming about. He wondered what they’d promised. But most of all, he wondered what _she’d_ promised in return.

_She’s Jon’s sister._

He’d woken several hours later with her still splayed out on his chest, sleeping peacefully. His position had changed somewhat from the rigid distance he had been trying to keep – his arm had come to wrap around her so that her head was resting on his bicep as he held her to him almost protectively. And his hand… his hand had somehow managed to slip to the spot on her waist where her tank top was riding up, so that his palm was resting against her bare skin. His cock had throbbed painfully as he took in their position, and he’d decided it was time for him to go before he did something stupid,]. So very very carefully he’d begun to extract himself from under her.

When he’d shifted his arm she pouted in her sleep murmuring “no don’t…” petulantly while burrowing further into the crook of his arm. His heart had melted a bit at the sight of it, which made him realize that he _really_ needed to go, and so he’d shushed her and said quietly, “it’s alright I just have to go downstairs” wondering for the umpteenth time who her dream bedfellow was.

She’d rolled over away from him then, groaning petulantly, but muttering “fine but breakfast” before curling up on her own side of the bed and settling back into sleep. His heart clenched again looking at her all small and curled up, her hair strewn out over the pillows in a fury of curls.

_She’s Jon’s sister._

He’d shaken himself mentally, and turned away from the pleasant sight, pulling his belt back on and putting on his shirt. He’d made sure to button every last button on his shirt even though it was 5:30 on a Sunday and no one would be awake in the house as he crept back to the room he shared with Jon. But still…

So now he was padding down the stairs as quietly as he could, trying to shake the impure thoughts of Arya She’s-Jon’s-Sister Stark before he got to the back bedroom where his best friend was probably passed out and snoring totally oblivious to the fact that his college roommate had been popping boners to the sound of his little sister whining in her sleep all night. He crossed the house without incident, finally finding the door to his and Jon’s room and sliding in quietly. Maybe now he could actually get some rest…

“Look who finally made it back.”

Jon’s voice shocked him so much he actually jumped before whirling around to see his best friend sitting up in bed. His tone was hard and Gendry, for the first time detected something cold in the way Jon was looking at him. He was used to seeing those looks from Jon, but always directed at others.

“Hey, yeah sorry. Arya said, she said that – uh, well that your aunt would lose it if she saw me?  So she told me I needed to stay up there and I passed out on the floor.”

For the first time since she’d told him he was supposed to avoid Cersei, Gendry began to wonder if Arya had been wrong about Jon being silently on-board with her little diversion plan. He’d seen his friend’s eyes go wide when he’d seen Robert’s wife in the kitchen, and he knew Jon had been full of shit when he said his back hurt too much to carry Arya up the stairs after she’d seemingly fainted. Jon would carry that girl over hot coals in his bare feet if she needed something on the other side, so when Arya had said that Jon had intentionally sent him up with her Gendry had believed her…But oh God if she was wrong.

“She said, she said you wanted me to go upstairs,” he began weakly, and he was ashamed to say he heard the pleading in his own voice.

Jon’s face softened, if only a bit, and Gendry felt a wave of relief wash over him.

“I did, but I didn’t think you’d spend the whole fucking night up there!” Jon said, frustratedly. Gendry nodded. Jon was pissed, but not _that_ pissed. Ok.

“I’m sorry bro, I just fell asleep. I didn’t know the terms of you and your sister’s silent agreements, she said stay so I did.”

Jon sighed, running his fingers through his curls in frustration as he was want to do and Gendry couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. He’d never lied to Jon before, but seeing anger flash in his friends’ eyes he’d just instinctively said that he had slept on the floor. Even though they hadn’t done anything, the guilt of it was making him feel uneasy and restless.

“I’m sorry man, I shouldn’t have come at you like that. I don’t know what got into me. I’ve been sitting up for hours wondering if I should storm up to her room and get you myself or if I should just wait.”

Thank God he hadn’t or Gendry was pretty sure he’d be down a best friend and sporting a black eye. The idea of Jon catching him shirtless in bed with Arya’s head resting on his chest made him queasy. Jon Snow was the closest thing to home he had, besides being back in cheapside with his mom. He didn’t know what to say, but Jon just continued.

“I just don’t know what to do with her this summer. Like she is honestly my favorite person in the world – even more than Robb and you know how we can get – but ever since I caught her this past year, and with everything that happened last night I just, I just don’t know how to deal with the fact that she’s getting into _that_ kind of stuff.”

He should have left it. He should’ve just nodded and given Jon his sympathies and then gotten in fucking bed, but he was an idiot and a curious one at that so instead he pressed on.

“What do you mean ‘caught her’?”

“This Winter – I came home and I found her topless in our hot tub straddling some douche friend of hers, who she doesn’t even fucking like, sucking face while he felt her up. And then, she sees me, gets out of the tub like it’s nothing, and tells me later that she’s just trying to lose her virginity before college.”

Gendry found himself getting irrationally angry as Jon told him the story, and he realized that his hands had clenched into fists. Jon saw it and took it as a showing of semi-protective brotherly rage and nodded indignantly.

“Right? Like the fuck am I supposed to do with that? When Robb and I wanted to lose our virginities it was funny, it was a challenge, something we were both too chicken shit to really try for for years. But her? I feel like everyone with a cock is a threat. It’s ridiculous.”

Gendry nodded, feeling for his friend. Jon nodded back, and muttered ‘sorry man’ one more time before they both made to get back into their beds and sleep for a few more hours. Gendry pulled the covers up, feeling more exhausted but mentally awake than he had in years. Tonight’s whatever-it-was could not be repeated. Jon meant to much to him, and to her, for him to risk getting that close to her again. As sleep finally claimed him the same thought, interspersed with memories of how she’d looked curled against his chest, kept flitting through his mind.

_She’s Jon’s sister._

 

Arya

 

She woke up feeling more rested than she had in a while. She certainly hadn’t expected to feel that light hearted, especially given the boys' idiocy last night and the fiasco with Joffery, but something was just keeping her from feeling too down.

As much as she was still mad at the big lumbering idiot she had to admit that waking up cradled in Gendry Waters arm with her cheek pressed against his muscled chest had felt pretty amazing. He could be stupid sometimes, but he was also nice and caring and totally completely beautiful.

Too bad he clearly thought of her as a surrogate younger sister. His behavior last night had protective big brother written all over it (barring the sleep cuddling – but she’d initiated that and he’d been asleep). The way he’d stuck his foot in his mouth about Aegon and her drinking, Robb couldn’t have done it better. He should really be paying Gendry for services rendered in his absence. Arya shuddered at the thought. Knowing her family, Robb might be doing just that.

She packed all her things up, brought them out to the RV and then met the boys and Robert for breakfast. Now that it had been pointed out to her by Aegon she almost couldn’t help but stare at the resemblance between Gendry and Robert. Her eyes got Jon’s from across the table, and he nodded at her slightly, telling her that he saw it too but indicating that she should be careful with her gazes. She nodded back, also almost unperceptively, and then locked her eyes back on her food for the rest of the meal. They said their goodbyes – Robert pulling her up flush against his chest in a bear hug in a way she thought was a bit much – and they were off again.

It felt good to be back on the road, even if she was still pointedly sharp with her responses to both of her travelling companions. She was excited to get away from the East Coast – away from the big cities – and to get into the woods to do some camping finally. They had to be at Robb’s bachelor’s party in New Orleans in five days, so they were driving down to Gatlinburg, Tennessee to go camping in the Smoky Mountains for a few days before they hit the big easy. She and Jon were always at home in the mountains, and it would be good to have a breather before heading into the unbridled debauchery that would be Robb Stark’s send off to singledom.

It was a ten hour drive, but by the time they stopped somewhere in Virginia Arya was in an excellent mood. Both Jon and Gendry had apologized for their behavior towards Aegon, and, as penance, had agreed to let her control the music selection. Though she was usually a classic rock person like Jon, she was also a teenage American girl, and unashamed of her guilty pleasure love for girl pop. Not only could she stomach the stuff, she could actually get into it. So when Gendry surrendered the iPod connector to her sourly, she had begun her reign of terror with a volume cranked version of Taylor Swift’s Today was a Fairy Tale.

Now as they stopped at the rest stop she was practically skipping as she went into the convenience store, humming to herself as she went. She heard Jon’s phone ring behind her, but she paid it little mind as she went into the store and began scouring for snacks. When she emerged again, sour gummies and Doritos in hand Jon was still on the phone, his face dark and serious.

“And you’re sure that one will work? We could come back if—Oh ok so you’re doing it from New York. Yeah. We’ll stop there for a night and have them send our results ASAP. No Sans, really thanks for calling. Don’t cry, its just a preliminary thing. It’s just so we’re ready in case—I know. I know it scares me too. Ok I will.”

She frowned. Jon never talked to Sansa like this. True they were closer now than they used to be, but they didn’t just talk on the regular.

“Alright. No I love you too. I’ll tell her. Don’t worry.”

With that he hung up and his grey eyes flew to hers, stormy with concern.

“We have to make a pit stop Ary. Bran is fine for right now, but the doctors say it’s time for us all to get tested to see if we’re HLA matches. Apparently there’s a one in four chance that you’ll match a sibling so that’s good news for us right? We’re like a one family marrow registry.”

She swallowed, feeling the lump in her throat form and her eyes start to sting like they did whenever she thought too much about Bran’s leukemia. Jon must have saw it on her face because he pulled her into a hug.

“Hey. Its not such a big deal, come on don’t worry. All we need to do for now is go to this hospital in Asheville and get our blood tested. Sansa’s having them send down Bran’s information so we’ll know right away if we’re viable donors or not.”

She nodded against his chest, wiping the tears away as Gendry emerged from the mini-mart looking confused.

"Everything ok?"

"Yup.  Just got to make a pit stop.  Don't worry though, it won't change anything."


	8. Punnett Problems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! This chapter's shorter than average but its really important so I thought it deserved to be its own stand alone thing. Let me know what you think!!

Arya

 

Arya Stark hated hospitals.

She hated the way they smelled, hated their stupid florescent lighting, hated how everything was scrubbed clean all the time. Most of all, she hated that they scared her more than she’d like to admit.

They’d stopped at Mission Hospital in Asheville North Carolina, to get their blood work done and sent to Bran’s doctors. They’d called her in first, and she’d left Jon and Gendry sitting in the lobby, as a young nurse in sea green scrubs led her to a room. Arya sat on the examining table, thinking as she did how stupid it was for them to have her crinkle up the wax paper covering it, when all she was there for was to give a few blood samples. The nurse didn’t seem to care though, and she sat down opposite Arya and began running through her list of questions.  She had Arya recite her entire medical history from past illnesses (few and far between) to breaks and stitches (more than she could count). If the family medical history had been a class exam she would have earned a D at the max (but really - who knows if their maternal great aunt has glaucoma?).  After what seemed like a hundred questions, the nurse took her blood pressure and her temperature and declared her fit to give samples.

“Alright, I’ll just go grab the phlebotomist and then we’ll be ready to go. Just sit tight here for a few minutes.”

And with that she left, leaving Arya to flip through the three month old issue of Teen Vogue with disgust while she waited. She was feeling antsy, and cursing the fluorescent lights for the fourth time in ten minutes, when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She was pleasantly surprised to see it was a text from Gendry – he’d been acting weird and distant since their whole sharing-a-bed thing – but the minute she opened it she felt alarm bells go off in her head.

_You need to get out here. Somethings wrong with Jon._

She flew off the table and was out the door before she even had time to slip her phone back in her pocket.

_Fucking hospitals._ She thought to herself through the panic. _Every time, something goes wrong._

When she rounded the corner and the reception desk came into view, she was relieved and surprised to see Jon standing there, healthy and whole, talking with a doctor while Gendry hovered ten feet away, looking nervous and uncomfortable. She’d been so worried that the 'something' Gendry had hinted at had been medical, that she relaxed a bit.  Then the sound of her approaching caught Jon’s attention and his gaze flashed up to meet hers, his eyes frenzied and wet with unshed tears. Jon Snow did not cry. Not when Theon broke his arm in sixth grade; not when Catelyn Stark “accidentally” forgot to get him a Christmas stocking two years in a row. Jon brooded, and in rare instances Jon raged, but Jon absolutely did not cry.

Maybe a medical emergency would have been better after all.

She approached the doctor and Jon, slipping her arm around her brother’s waist for support and looking up into his face.

“I- I just don’t understand what you’re saying.” Jon mumbled, his voice waivering as his eyes flitting between the doctor and the nurse behind him.  She was hovering around anxiously, clearly perturbed by the turn of events, looking oddly guilty.

“Listen son, I know this is coming as something of a shock to you, and I’m sorry Nurse Medley handled it the way she did. She was just thinking about the checklist in front of her, and at this stage the doctors at Boston Children’s Hospital are only running donor tests on siblings—“

“Jon _is_ our sibling,” Arya interjected, her eyes flashing with rage, “just because he’s our half-brother doesn’t mean he’s not our sibling.”

The doctor looked at her, and then back up at Jon, with something akin to pity in his eyes. “Do you want to maybe have this discussion in private first, Mr. Snow?”

“No! No, please doctor, please just explain it one more time. I’m- I want to be sure I understand.”

The doctor sighed.

“When Nurse Medley was asking you questions she had in front of her Brandon Stark’s charts which were faxed in from Boston and the medical information of Ned and Catelyn Stark. So when you said you had type O blood, she flagged you as ineligible.”

“But what does that have to do with—“ Arya began her frustration boiling over.

“Ned Stark has type AB.”

“So?”

The doctor sighed again, “He cannot have a child with type O blood. It’s genetically impossible.”

Arya felt like she’d been hit in the chest. She looked up at Jon, whose eyes were distant. She’d never seen him look so lost. Then again, except for when they'd diagnosed Bran with cancer, she'd never felt so lost herself.

“Are you sure you’re type O?”

“Yes. I donate every six months. The whole team does, it’s the cheapest way to be charitable when you’re broke and in college.”

The doctor clapped a hand on Jon’s shoulder, concern and pity still laced etched across his brow. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way. Please let us know if you need anything, or just want a room to sit down in.”

Jon nodded, but didn’t speak. Instead he gently removed Arya’s arms from his waist and made a bee line for the exit.

“Jon!” she called, moving to follow him, but Gendry grabbed her by the wrist before she could get by.

“Give him some time, Arya,” he said, his voice low and kind. “He needs to call your dad, and he needs to do it alone.”

Tears pricked in her eyes and she felt the irrational need to fight Gendry, to fight _something._ He must have read it on her face, but instead he pulled her into a big hug and to her surprise she let him, savoring the soothing comfort when he enveloped her in his warm strong arms. Once she was cocooned against his chest she couldn’t help it, she let out a gasping sob.

“Shhh. It’s alright, it’ll be alright. This won’t change anything,” he said softly, rocking her slightly, “just let it all out, Arya. If you need to cry, cry.”

And she did need to cry, so she did, tucked against Gendry Waters chest, in a hospital surrounded by strangers, waiting for her favorite brother-turned-not-brother to come back and make things right again.


	9. Fireside Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So I just had a comment on this not too long ago and it made me come back and re-read what I'd written (and what I'd outlined for the next few chapters) and I kind of fell back in love with this story so I figured I'd pick it back up again! So sorry for the long hiatus - this school year has been particularly demanding but please please please let me know what you think!

Gendry

 

He found it both eerie and calming, being out in the woods with no sounds but the low buzz of insects and the soft cracking of the fire.  You don’t come across this kind of quite living in the city – not for more than a few seconds anyway.  Thinking about it now, Gendry figured that he hadn’t heard silence like this until he met Jon.  It was his roommate, his fellow bastard-from-Boston, who had dragged Gendry out on his first camping trip over four years ago.

Now he was sitting out here, enveloped in that same silence, straining his ears for the sound – any sound – of Jon coming back to their camp site.  He was so in tuned to the sounds of the night that he could even here each soft breath Arya took, as she dozed softly at his side, stretched out in her sleeping bag with her travel pillow propped up against his side.  It had taken him an hour to talk her into laying down – she’d refused flat out to go into the tent before her brother returned – but had fallen asleep almost as soon as she’d crawled into her sleeping bag.

The last few hours had been rough on all of them.  They’d waited in the RV for over an hour before Jon returned, eyes bloodshot with his cell battery dead, having spent the better part of an hour on the phone with Ned Stark.  Whatever the Stark patriarch had said though Jon had kept to himself.  He’d barely acknowledged Arya, whose own crying had given way to a stone-cold brood within ten minutes of Jon storming out of the hospital. Instead he’d made a bee-line to Gendry and asked if he could borrow Gendry’s bike for a bit and follow them on the hour long drive to the campsite.  It hadn’t sounded like the best idea to Gendry, after all Jon was clearly pretty upset, but he’d never known Snow to be anything but responsible as a driver, so he got the bike off the back without a word of protest and threw his friend the keys.  Gendry saw the lone tear slide down Arya’s cheek when he got back into the RV, but she’d said nothing about her brother’s slight, merely sat beside him and stared out the windshield at the road ahead.

When they’d gotten to the campsite, Jon had only stayed long enough to help them unpack the camping gear and ask if they could manage to put up the tent without him before heading straight to the trailhead with a vague mumble about “going for a walk to clear his head.” That had been five hours ago now and Gendry was at a loss over what to do.  He didn’t think there was anything especially dangerous about the area of the Smoky Mountains where they were camped out – no over-abundance of large predators, no dangerous paths along steep cliffs – but he still felt antsy just sitting by the fire while there was at least a slim chance that Jon was laid out somewhere injured and incapable of getting back to them.  Jon wouldn’t thank him for leaving Arya alone and asleep though, and Gendry would be damned before he’d wake that girl up and worry her over what was likely nothing.  Gods know she’d done more than her fair share of worrying over Jon Snow for the day. 

She looked so small, curled up in her sleeping bag and nestled into the pillow that she had propped against his side.  He felt an overwhelming wave of affection surge through him as her surprisingly delicate hand curled into a fist in her sleep as he watched her.  Typical Arya, taking on foes even in her sleep.  Brave girl.

He sighed, smiling to himself in spite of the day’s events and stretched out deciding to settle in where he was for a bit longer and wait up for Jon.  He had been sitting with his knees up, arms resting on his legs, but now he stretched his legs out towards the fire and almost without thinking lay his left arm down lightly to rest on Arya’s sleeping form.  Without waking, she cuddled in closer, pushing her pillow onto his lap and moving her body up so that his arm lay across the dip of her waist.  His heart clenched at the sight and he shook himself in frustration.  He forced himself to look back into the dying flames of the fire, but left his arm where it was in spite of himself.

 _She’s still Jon’s sister_.  He reminded himself inwardly.  _No matter what the fucking doctors say_.

* * *

 

Arya

 

“Gendry.  Hey Gen, wake up.”

She heard the sound of her brother’s horse whisper through a cloud of sleep just before she felt him gently shake the shoulder of the great raven-haired giant whose lap she had somehow ended up sleeping on sometime during the night.  Gendry awoke with a start and instinctively he jerked his arm in, pulling the her flush against him and turning with her, so that his entire back stood between her and whoever it was who had shaken him awake.  Still clearly sleep-dazed he turned to peer behind him in the semi-darkness and then visibly relaxed, as he realized the nighttime intruder was Jon, looking forlorn but better than before.  Although ‘nighttime’ was hardly accurate - from the light pink haze beginning to line the horizon behind Jon Arya guessed it was around 4 am.  Wherever he had gone, Jon had stayed there all night. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, I just figured you’d want to move into the tent…” Jon muttered in apology to Gendry, trailing off awkwardly.  Somehow, the two of them clearly still thought she was asleep.  She fought against her initial instincts to fly out of her sleeping bag and into her brother’s arms, remembering the cool distance he had kept earlier.  Instead she remained silent, keeping her eyes only cracked enough to see Jon’s rough outline.

“S’ok,” Gendry said groggily, “just fell asleep in front of the fire.  You ok?”

Jon just shrugged, “How’s she holding up?”

For a millisecond Arya felt Gendry’s arm tighten its hold on her, imperceptibly holding her closer, before it was gone. 

“Won’t say it’s been easy on her.  You shouldn’t have blown her off when you came back to the RV.”

Arya felt a pang at the memory, and another one at the thought that Gendry had noticed it and was telling Jon off on her behalf. 

“I know.  I just didn’t know what to say to her.  Not when everything I’d thought I knew about our family had just come crashing down to shit.”

“You’re still her brother you know.  She’d tell you that herself if she were awake.”

 “Cousin, technically,” Jon said bitterly, as if he couldn’t keep it to himself any longer, “at least that’s what da- _Ned Stark_ said on the phone.”

In spite of her plans to keep silent her eyes flew open to stare at Jon at that.  Gendry, whose head was still turned to look at his friend didn’t notice but Jon saw, and his eyes locked on hers, filled with the same raw vulnerability she’d seen in them at the hospital.

She’d spent hours since the revelation at the hospital trying to figure out how the hell it was possible that Jon was anything but her brother.  She’d started off thinking that Jon’s mother – the unnamed paramour from her father’s tour in Bosnia – had somehow deceived her father, passing another man’s child off as his.  That would be a simple enough explanation, where it not for the fact that Jon was the spitting image of her father.  It was something people had commented on all her life, some of her earliest memories were of her mother getting irrationally angry over it and storming out of various events.  She’d thought of her uncles, of course, but it made no sense.  Her father had brought Jon back from his deployment – while her Uncle Bengen had still been a Midshipman at Annapolis, and over a year after her Uncle Brandon had been killed in a car crash. It just didn’t make sense.  Unless…

“She’ll still see you as a brother,” Gendry insisted after a second of shocked silence.  Arya wondered if he was doing the same mental gymnastics that she was.  “And if she were awake she’d call you stupid for doubting that, even for a moment.”

Jon looked past Gendry, his eyes still locked on hers and nodded.  “I know.  And she’ll always be like a sister to me.”

In spite of herself she felt a tear run down her cheek as she gave a small nod of acknowledgement.

“Besides,” he said, his voice waivering a bit, “from what my fath- what Ned Stark says, she has the exact same look and personality as his sister.  Which means she’s the closest I’ll ever get to knowing my mother.”


End file.
